


Finding Light in the Darkness

by Pennygirl612



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennygirl612/pseuds/Pennygirl612
Summary: Naked from the waist up, Neal had on only a pair of worn, faded jeans which hung low on his slender hips.  Neal’s arms were suspended over his head, wrists bound in black leather shackles to a metal cross bar, his toes barely grazing the concrete floor below him.  A single bare bulb shown overhead, casting most of the room in stark shadows. The man probably thought Neal was helpless and completely at his mercy.  And that was fine with Neal.  He didn’t need to know that Neal could easily get himself out of the shackles if he had to.  That is if he wanted to.  It just so happened that in this instance, Neal didn’t want to.





	1. Finding Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar or it's characters.

Chapter One Finding Bliss

The unknown man standing before him was short but stout. His face was covered by a black mask allowing Neal only to see light brown eyes and rough, chapped lips. He licked those chapped lips now and Neal could see the excited look behind his cold eyes. Obviously the man liked what he saw and it was enough to send a shiver through Neal. 

Naked from the waist up, Neal had on only a pair of worn, faded jeans which hung low on his slender hips. Neal’s arms were suspended over his head, wrists bound in black leather shackles to a metal cross bar, his toes barely grazing the concrete floor below him. A single bare bulb shown overhead, casting most of the room in stark shadows. The man probably thought Neal was helpless and completely at his mercy. And that was fine with Neal. He didn’t need to know that Neal could easily get himself out of the shackles if he had to. That is if he wanted to. It just so happened that in this instance, Neal didn’t want to.

From previous experience, Neal knew the first blow was always the hardest one to take. But the sheer anticipation of the pain was already enough to have Neal breathing in short bursts, his vision narrowing, focusing solely on the man’s hands. Those blunt and dirty hands now drew back. Neal tried to prepare himself, to ready his body but the fist landing in his stomach still knocked the breath out of him.

A harsh gasp escaped Neal. There it was, the pain he had been expecting, the pain he had been waiting for, the pain he so desperately needed. Rearing back again, the man let out a low grunt throwing his full weight behind the punch that this time landed at Neal’s exposed rib area. Neal inhaled sharply, barely able to breathe through the shooting pain. He would have doubled over or likely fallen to the ground if not for the shackles around his wrists holding him in place, exposing him to further abuse. 

Neal watched as the man stepped away from him and over to a steel cart on wheels. Neal knew the cart held a variety of tools that could be used for play time. He watched with disinterest as the man picked up and put back down several options before deciding on a rattan cane stick about thirty inches long. He felt tears forming in his eyes. Closing his eyes, he tried to center himself. He couldn’t. Not yet. He still needed—more. 

Taking a deep breath, Neal slowly exhaled as the man circled behind him, cane firmly in hand. Hearing the man casually whip the cane in the air left Neal antsy, but it was sheer bliss when the first strike landed across his shoulders. Sometimes he was successful at keeping the hurt at bay, but other times like today, it was all he could dwell on. It was during these times that he had to take a more drastic approach to coping. He had learned that nothing short of intense physical pain could outweigh the mental torture growing in his mind. The cane if used properly could certainly ground him. 

It had been years since Neal had felt this low, felt so lost and disconnected. But ever since the explosion, he had found himself slipping further and further into that all too familiar dark place. It threatened to consume him whole, leaving nothing behind. But here, tonight, with each hurtful strike, he was finding a way out of the blackness, back into the light; the burden of guilt that had threatened to weigh him down and drag him under now slowly beginning to lift away. 

Another strike and Neal found himself finally there. He was at that place of sweet and utter numbness. The welcoming place where his mind shut down and his thoughts cleared to nothingness. Not thinking of his hurt, of his loss or of what might have been. He was focused only on the radiating heat from his side; the sharp piecing pain whose rhythm matched the beating of his heart. It was not an easy place to get to, and he had to be careful not to take it too far but in the end, the numbness was all that mattered. It was what he needed. It was the only thing that kept him moving forward when all he really wanted to do was fall and forever lie still.


	2. Temporary Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took Neal a long moment to recognize the silence in the room, to realize the strikes against his back had ceased. Opening his eyes, he found the man once again at the cart rummaging through the various tools looking for something new to play with.

It took Neal a long moment to recognize the silence in the room, to realize the strikes against his back had ceased. Opening his eyes, he found the man once again at the cart rummaging through the various tools looking for something new to play with. 

Allowing his eyes to close, Neal took assessment. Taking a deep breath in and slowly releasing it out, Neal knew he had achieved his goal of finding at least a temporary peace. The physical pain now outweighed the mental torture of his loss. With this peace, he felt centered more to the here and now and not still stuck on the tarmac with flying debris in the air around him. The hurt was still present but now at a tolerable level and safely locked away. He had crested the worst of the darkness and was trending back into the light. He had survived. She had not. It wasn’t fair. It just was and Neal had to live with that. Today he could. Tomorrow…he would have to wait and see.

Returning his attention to the man, Neal saw him frown as if he wasn’t finding exactly what he wanted. Before Neal could tell him he was good, that playtime was over; the man turned back towards Neal now carrying a small knife in his right hand. Neal stared in confusion knowing for certain that the cart did not contain any sharp blades. His agreement had expressly forbidden any tools that would leave a permanent mark or disfigurement. With growing concern, Neal knew the knife belonged to the man himself. He had brought it with him to serve his own purpose.

“Satchmo,” Neal said out loud, using his safe word. Only the man didn’t stop and instead Neal watched in stunned horror as a slow spreading smile crossed the man’s face as he continued towards Neal. 

“I said Satchmo!” Neal said more forcibly. He was certain that the man heard him, but still he continued his approach chuckling as he got within arms’ reach. Real fear coursed through Neal as the man stepped right into Neal’s space. Then all Neal could hear was the loud, constant drumming of his heart threatening to pop out of his chest. His breath became ragged as he witnessed the glint off of the knife’s blade. The man stepped even closer bringing the knife up as he did so. The harsh, heated breath against Neal’s neck smelled of stale cigarettes. A frigid chill flashed through Neal feeling the flat side of the knife grazing across his chest and down to his navel. 

“Satchmo,” Neal whispered even though he now knew the safe word was not going to stop the man. Seeing the cold eyes staring out from the mask Neal concluded he was truly fucked and blamed himself for being so stupid. 

Circling behind him, the man leaned in and whispered in Neal’s ear, “You know you want this.”

Neal didn’t move; the cold, hard blade now firmly pressed against his side. With a quick flick of the man’s wrist, Neal felt a sharp prick against his skin. Looking down, a thin beaded red line of blood formed in the wake of the blade. A wave of panic flooded him as Neal struggled against the shackles. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he tried to escape the restraints; his earlier confidence evaporating now in the heat of the moment. 

Chuckling, the man pressed the flat part of the blade against the fresh wound, smearing the blood. “You know you need this.”

Again Neal struggled, trying to twist away from the man; his feet fruitlessly attempting to gain purchase on the smooth concrete floor. He was about to give in, to allow the inevitable to happen when the door suddenly burst open. Without being able to see in the shadows, still Neal knew who it was. In relief, Neal knew Peter had found him. 

The man, not appreciating the interruption, started towards Peter, knife still held firmly in his hand. Peter merely stood his ground, bringing his full height to bare, hands resting on his hips. Neal knew Peter could have flashed his badge or drawn his weapon. Peter did neither. He simply stared the man down almost daring him to challenge him. The quiet rage behind Peter’s eyes was something Neal had never witnessed before and it was enough for the man to think twice about confronting Peter. After a pause, the man wisely dropped the knife and slowly backed away empty hands displayed.

“Out,” Peter growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so maybe I lied. Looking more likely this will be four chapters but still on course to finish within a week. :)


	3. Chapter 3 Burning Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not taking his eyes off of the man, Peter only turned his attention to Neal once the door had safely closed behind them. Peter made his approach slowly as if afraid to scare off Neal. Knowing he couldn’t exactly go anywhere at the moment, a half laugh escaped Neal which he immediately regretted when ribs exploded in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patience everyone. I'm getting to the comfort side I promise. This chapter has a little comfort but more hurt. Apparently I like the hurt side more than comfort. Not going to dwell on what that actually says about me.

“Out,” Peter growled. 

Not taking his eyes off of the man, Peter only turned his attention to Neal once the door had safely closed behind them. Peter made his approach slowly as if afraid to scare off Neal. Knowing he couldn’t exactly go anywhere at the moment, a half laugh escaped Neal which he immediately regretted when ribs exploded in flames. 

Watching as Peter circled all the way around him, Neal saw Peter’s right hand reach out, felt the heat from his palm even though the hand never touched the skin of his chest. As Peter moved behind him, his fingers now traced above the red welts on his shoulder and back. Continuing to circle, those same fingers traced around the smeared blood on his left side still without actually touching skin. Neal heard a slow exhale of breath come from Peter before he returned to stand in front of Neal.

Having dark clouded eyes now focused on him, eyes taking in the angry red and purplish area of Neal’s side where vicious punches had landed, Neal’s relief changed to embarrassment. No one knew about this particular coping mechanism--not Mozzie, not Alex, not even Kate. Neal didn’t want Peter to see him like this, but it was far too late to hide it now. To even get to this room, Peter had to have known what this place was and what types of activities its willing participants engaged in behind closed doors. He felt his checks redden even more. 

Peter stood in front of Neal without moving, without saying a word. Neal tried to capture Peter’s eyes, to gage his mood to see if the rage still burned. The older man ignored him as he continued visually assessing Neal’s wounds. Neal wished he would say something; the silence in the room left him feeling even more vulnerable and uncertain. 

Peter moved to stand behind him. Neal twisted to try again to see Peter’s face. If he could just see his expression, Neal could formulate a plan, figure out which con would work best. Otherwise he was working blind, a miss-step too easy to make. Sensing Peter step away from him, Neal gave up trying to see him.

“Peter, I’m fine.” Neal said not able to stand the silence any longer. Out of his peripheral, Neal saw Peter shake his head. He wasn’t ready to talk.

At last a hand rested on Neal’s side tracing along the edges of the discolored area. “It’s nothing,” Neal started to say even as he winced when heated fingers probed gently into his skin. No ribs were broken but the bruised area still hurt like hell. Immediately fingers withdrew and Neal clenched his teeth and focused on breathing through the pain.

Hands now reached above him to the restraints; making quick, efficient work on the buckles. Peter wedged his right leg and hip into Neal’s body bracing him in a way to keep him from falling to the ground. Somewhat uncomfortably, Neal held onto Peter as the man shuffled him over to brace against the wall. Still without speaking, Peter took Neal’s right arm and began rubbing the muscle. Neal’s left arm then received the same treatment as Peter sought to bring life back into numbed flesh. That return of feeling brought sharp shooting pain to both limbs and Neal failed to bite back an agonizing groan. The result was Peter increasing the pressure of his massage until pain turned into a welcome relief as sensation returned to his limbs.

With the resumption of full feeling, Neal pushed Peter’s hands away and immediately doubled over in agony holding his ribs. In response, Peter wrapped his arms around Neal holding him in place letting him ride out the waves until the younger man could catch his breath. Once able to stand upright and bear full weight, Peter let go of him and moved away, returning a moment later with his shirt. Peter helped Neal into it, slapping his hand away when Neal attempted to button it himself. 

Stepping back, Peter conducted one last assessment and appeared to decide Neal was fit enough since he pointed to the door. Neal started to speak, but stopped when Peter chose that moment to finally look at him. The blinding rage was still there, a simmering heat barely contained under the surface. Neal shut his mouth and shuffled towards the door. 

Inside the car, Peter maintained his focus on his driving but at long last spoke to Neal. His words were low and heated. “Not a damn word. We’re going to the urgent care and then home. No argument. Not one. Damn. Word.” 

Mercifully the doctor visit was quick. As he suspected, his ribs were merely bruised and the cut wasn’t deep enough to warrant anything more than a cleaning and bandage. So with a bottle of prescribed pain medication in hand, Neal found himself back in Peter’s car on his way to the agent’s house. While he would have much preferred to go back to his own apartment, Neal wisely kept his mouth shut. 

The silence in the car left Neal alone in his head, thoughts resurfacing that he had just managed to bury; a darkness threatening to take over and consume him all over again. He shook his head in an attempt to keep all the negative emotions at bay. He risked a sideways glance at Peter and could see by the white knuckling of the steering wheel that the older man was still angry. 

It sparked a rage within Neal. What right did Peter have to be angry? Neal was the injured party here with the aching, bruised ribs. Not to mention the never-ending emotional pain that was draining the very life out of Neal. Peter hadn’t suffered like he had. Peter hadn’t lost the woman he loved nor did he have to live with the knowledge that her death was on his own hands! So why was Peter allowed to be so angry with him? What gave him that right? 

Neal literally bit his tongue, turning back to stare blankly out the window. He would let it go for now, but he would have his say. He would tell the agent exactly how he felt and what he thought. How Peter had no right to interfere in his personal life. Neal did his job. Every day he fulfilled his end of the deal he had made with the FBI. How he chose to spend his personal time wasn’t any of Peter’s damn business! And why did he even care?

“Stop,” Peter commanded without even a glance in his direction. His stern tone left no room for discussion; no room for anything more than simply to be obeyed. 

That single word had Neal instantly clamping down on what he was about to say to the agent. Then Neal turned his fury inward. Why did he do that? Why did he allow the agent to boss him around? When exactly had he become the well-trained dog happy to blindly obey his master? An anklet around his leg shouldn’t be enough to silence him. 

A jolt as Peter braked the car in front of his townhouse startled Neal but did nothing to tampon down his own rage. Before Peter could even put the car in park, Neal was unbuckling his seat belt and opening the door. Through gritted teeth, he pulled himself out of the car and shuffled up the walk, all the while attempting not to jar his throbbing ribs any more than necessary. At the door, he turned back expecting Peter to be right behind him. When he noticed the agent hadn’t even left the car, he demonstrated his impatience by picking the lock and opening the door himself.

Once inside, he stalked around the living room until it became clear that Peter wasn’t immediately following him into the house. Easing himself down onto the sofa, Neal sat there seething, waiting for Peter. He wasn’t going to be put off or deterred. He was going to tell him exactly how he felt and then he was going home. And if Peter had a problem with anything he said or with him going home, well fuck him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. Comments welcome.


	4. Fearing Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter watched in frustration as Neal didn’t wait for him to help him out of the car. Seeing how he cradled his side, Peter sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. He probably should have stopped him. He probably should have said something. Seeing the front door swing open despite knowing full well it had been locked caused Peter to close his eyes and lean his head back against the seat rest. Yeah, he really should have said something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be the last chapter. It was supposed to be the big scene between Peter and Neal. But then Peter complained that Neal basically got three chapters and he hadn't even gotten one. I couldn't really argue with that so here's Peter's chapter. If you don't like it, you need to take it up with him as I had very little say in the matter. :)

Peter watched in frustration as Neal didn’t wait for him to help him out of the car. Seeing how he cradled his side, Peter sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. He probably should have stopped him. He probably should have said something. Seeing the front door swing open despite knowing full well it had been locked caused Peter to close his eyes and lean his head back against the seat rest. Yeah, he really should have said something. 

Not ready to go inside, Peter let his thoughts drift back over the last several weeks. Ever since his release, Neal had been on edge, shaky. Not that any of that was surprising. To witness the love of your life die in an explosion of flames right before your very eyes would tend to leave a person a bit traumatized. Add to it Neal’s immediate incarceration as a suspect in that death, and well, Peter was amazed Neal could function at all. 

So with that in mind, upon his release Peter had watched his friend at work. He had even gone to great (and annoying) lengths to meet with Mozzie and team up to keep an eye on Neal. Throughout the week, Peter would observe the shaking get a little more pronounced, but only when Neal didn’t think anyone (especially Peter) was watching. He would ask Neal if he was okay. The response was always the same. The “I’m fine, Peter” was followed by a dazzling bright smile though the smile never quite reached the ocean blue eyes which on those days seemed just a touch more dull than usual. 

Peter would remain silent. Telling himself that if Neal was still acting the same on Monday, he would sit the young man down. But come Monday, Neal would seem almost back to normal. A spring back in his step, he would surround himself with younger agents and show off a card trick or two. Peter suspected it was all a diversion, classic Caffrey misdirect. But a case would come along and Peter would deny what his gut told him, convinced Neal just needed a little more time and some privacy to deal with everything. And Neal would seem fine for another week or two before the pattern would start again.

It wasn’t until another Monday morning when Peter went to pick up Neal before work that he started to suspect something really was wrong. Arriving early, he allowed himself into Neal’s apartment and caught a glimpse of him by his bed getting dressed. Peter could have sworn he saw Neal wince as he buttoned up his shirt. Before he could comment, June’s cook arrived with a platter of croissants and fresh pot of Italian roast coffee. Seeing Peter, Neal strolled into the kitchen area in his cocky, graceful way causing Peter to disregard what he had thought he had seen. 

But throughout that day and every day that week, Peter silently watched, observed every motion, every movement. More than once a look of discomfort crossed the con man’s face. Again he asked Neal if he was okay. Again the same answer. Peter acted as if he let it go, but he continued to watch. Sure enough, the shaking became more pronounced and more than once, he caught Neal simply staring off into space.

Peter had seen enough. This time he wasn’t going to ignore his gut. So after staying a little later at the office than he had intended, Peter finally went home and the first thing he did was pull up Neal’s tracking data for the two weekends in question. It didn’t take him long to see that on both Friday nights, Neal went to the same location at exactly eight o’clock. 

Glancing at his watch, Peter had realized it was only minutes away from that time now. Peter had raced out of the house after checking Neal’s current location; confirming that Neal was there once again. It was at least Neal’s third visit to—that place; at least the third time since his release from prison and the re-instatement of his deal. And even though Peter didn’t know exactly what the place was or what happened there, his gut told him it was something bad and that he needed to get to Neal.

Having arrived at a rather non-descript office building, Peter had first attempted to flash his badge to gain entrance. The rather large man behind the door had clearly not been impressed by the gold shield. Peter briefly thought about bullying his way in but again that same large man simply folded his even larger, muscular arms and silently dared Peter to even try it. 

Channeling his inner Caffrey, Peter got smart and pulled out his wallet. Extracting a hundred dollar bill, the man smiled and welcomed him inside. It took another twenty for the man to tell Peter the nature of the business. Getting queasy just listening to the various things human beings actually paid to either do to someone or have done to them, Peter cut off the man in mid-story and handed over a fifty to learn which room Neal was in and the quickest way to it.

For his own mental survival, Peter went into agent mode focusing on the task at hand tuning out the sounds coming from the rooms he passed and not allowing himself to be distracted by the people he saw in the hallway. Walking down the stairs and into the basement, Peter stopped outside the first door on the left. Neal was behind this door. And by all accounts, he wasn’t alone. Before accepting his fifty, the man had told Peter exactly what kind of arrangement Neal had agreed to. Not only agreed to, but actually paid for.

Peter was angry as hell. He wanted to kick in the door, grab Caffrey by his scrawny little neck and drag him out of there. He wanted to throttle sense into him. He wanted to yell and curse him and---and Peter sighed and conducted a reality check. Behind the door in front of him were two consenting adults doing things that maybe Peter didn’t agree with or even like, but there wasn’t anything illegal about it. Neal was a willing participant. And since this wasn’t his first time there, whatever went on behind that door gave him something that at least Neal thought he needed. 

So Peter had paced and paced unsure of what to do. What right did he have to barge in and interfere? In all likelihood he would accomplish nothing more than embarrassing Neal at best and at worst causing the young man to stop coming to this place and find his relief in other, less safe ways. At least here, there was some measure of control.

So he paced some more. Then stopped, convinced it was best to leave before Neal discovered him. Better to talk to Neal at his apartment tomorrow when Peter was in a better state of mind. He had just turned to go when he heard Neal call out. While he couldn’t make out what Neal said, he certainly recognized the panic behind the voice.

Without hesitation, Peter tried the knob, grateful when it easily turned in his hand and he barged in unannounced. Back in agent mode, Peter took in the entire scene in an instance from Neal restrained in the center of the room with a small blood trail on his left side to the ugly man standing in Neal’s space, bloody knife in hand. 

Seizing him up, Peter recognized his type. He was nothing more than a little weasel who wouldn’t have the balls to stand up against any one larger than him so Peter didn’t bother pulling his gun and simply widened his stance and drew himself up full height. 

And in that moment, Peter wanted nothing more than to rip the heart out of the guy with his bare hands. And the man must have sensed the growing fury in Peter as he wisely dropped the knife and stepped away from Neal. For just a moment, Peter was disappointed the man had stood down. He ordered the man out but he had to admit he didn’t recognize the snarling, almost primal voice that gave the order.

And now back in the present, sitting alone in the car, Peter was more scared than angry. He still wanted to throttle sense into Neal. He still wanted to yell and curse him but—but---he wanted to pull the kid into a hug more and tell him it was okay. Convince him that what happened to Kate wasn’t his fault. Convince him that he didn’t have to hide his grief. Make him understand that he wasn’t alone anymore. 

Pinching his nose and saying a silent prayer for strength, Peter looked towards the house. Inside Neal was waiting. And if the building rage Peter witnessed on the drive over hadn’t burned out by now, Peter was going to have his hands full talking to Neal. 

Taking a deep breath, Peter finally exited the car. It was time to talk to Neal. And as he walked towards the house, Peter had to tamp down his fear, scared now because he wasn’t sure just how he was going to get through to Neal. Peter only knew that he had to. In this, failure was not an option.


	5. Nothing Is Ever Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal heard footsteps approach the front door and mentally prepared himself for battle. If Peter had thought leaving him alone for a few minutes would somehow calm him down, Neal was about to show the agent how sadly mistaken he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter took an unexpected turn. I added suicidal thoughts to the tags in case as a reader this is a trigger for you.

Neal heard footsteps approach the front door and mentally prepared himself for battle. If Peter had thought leaving him alone for a few minutes would somehow calm him down, Neal was about to show the agent how sadly mistaken he was. 

“How nice of you to finally join me,” Neal said his voice dripping with sarcasm. He felt restless, itching for a fight. It didn’t matter that he knew it was all just a way to get the darkness to recede just a little, just for a moment, just long enough for him to catch his breath again. 

Neal watched in agitation as Peter took the time to strip off his jacket, but then something caught his attention. It was Peter’s gun, his rather large and menacing looking gun. Instantly, all light from the room seemed to be absorbed by the dark, cold metal. Neal found himself wondering what the weapon would feel like in his hand. Was it as heavy as it looked? Was it as powerful and deadly as it seemed? Did Peter keep the safety on? Was there a bullet already in the chamber just ready to discharge at the mere slightest pull of the trigger?

****  
Peter paid little attention to Neal as he shed his suit jacket. It had been a very long day and he wanted to at least get a little more comfortable before dealing with his ward. Turning back, he found Neal looking at him strangely. No, not looking at Peter per se, but rather looking at something else. Neal was staring at something, almost fixated on…Peter followed Neal’s gaze which lead him to his shoulder harness and to the pistol he still strapped inside. But that couldn’t be right. Neal didn’t like guns.

A damp chill bore right into his bones as he watched the expression change on Neal’s face. The flaring anger changed to a look of fascination then to a look Peter couldn’t really describe. Peter could almost see the wheels churning in Neal’s mind, and when empty, hollow blue eyes at last came to meet his, the cold in Peter turned down right artic. 

Slowly and oh so carefully, Peter drew his pistol. Hands suddenly sweaty, Peter concentrated on maintaining a strong grip fearing that any moment, Neal might rise from the couch and actually attempt to seize the weapon. For what exactly, Peter didn’t even want to consider. Because again the Neal he knew didn’t like guns.

Careful not to turn his back to Neal, Peter made his way towards the stairs. At their base, Peter hesitated. He needed to go up to his bedroom and safely lock away his weapon, but he was almost afraid to move, afraid that the moment Neal was out of his sight the young man would either bolt or do something worse. The worse was something Peter never would have suspected Neal Caffrey capable of, but the man who was on his couch who had just obsessed over his gun was more a stranger than the Neal Caffrey Peter knew.

It all left Peter unsure of himself, unsure of his friend. Sweeping the room, Peter attempted to see what if anything might be a potential land mine. Peter paled as normally innocuous items took on a new and hazardous look. The letter opener on the side table, the long extension cord left out on the dining room table, even the glass of the picture frames; Peter could visualize each and every one of them turning into weapons for self-destruction. 

Looking back to the couch, Peter saw Neal’s calculating eyes do their own assessment of his surroundings. Eyes meeting, Peter watched as the blank, dull eyes flared again with anger. Peter let out the breath he wasn’t even aware he had been holding. Thank God, Peter thought as relief washed through him, grateful for at least the momentary reprieve. Rage he could handle, the nothingness, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to do with that. 

“Don’t move,” Peter ordered using what he hoped was his best commanding voice and praying it still had some effect on Neal. 

Rushing up the stairs, Peter wasted no time securing his pistol inside the safe. After closing the safe door, Peter had to lean into the wall to keep upright when his legs threatened to give out from under him. He tried to settle himself, tried to convince himself that Neal really wasn’t thinking those kinds of thoughts. His friend was not in that bad of a state. He couldn’t be because Peter would have noticed signs sooner. He was a trained observer, he would have known.

Who was he kidding? Peter had seen the shakiness, witnessed firsthand how much Neal was on edge. Hell, he just watched the young man paying someone to physical beat him! So some great fucking observation skills he had! Peter hung his head. He had failed his friend in nearly every way. 

After just a moment, Peter stood up tall. He couldn’t afford to feel self-pity now, not when Neal needed him. And there was still time, he told himself. There had to be enough time left to get through to Neal. 

The chill returning to his body, Peter striped out of his work clothes throwing on a pair of faded blue jeans and an old green Le Moyne sweatshirt. Comfort wear for trying times and maybe, just maybe, in more casual clothes he could get Neal to see Peter wasn’t the enemy. He wasn’t acting as an FBI agent now. Not in this moment. Not for this.

Anger mixed with genuine terror and both hope and fear weighed heavily upon him. Peter knew he couldn’t afford to waste another second upstairs. Exiting the bedroom, Peter made his way back downstairs determined more than ever to do whatever necessary to help his friend.

****  
Downstairs, Neal didn’t immediately notice Peter’s absence. However, he felt the silence. One moment he was pissed off with Peter and the next he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the rather large, black, deadly weapon. Blinking, Neal shook his head to clear it. Any thoughts he may have had, he forced back into a small room in his mind; effectively locking them away. What are you doing? He asked himself. This was not who he was.

Hearing creaking footsteps overhead, Neal’s anger returned. Anger partially for not having told the agent what was on his mind; consequences be damned. If Peter wanted to lock him up, then so be it. If he wasn’t going to be allowed a personal life, if the agent was going to insist on constantly interfering, to refuse to let Neal make his own decisions, to believe that he always knew what was best for Neal then what difference was it that he was surrounded by steel bars or barbed wire? Wasn’t this kind of life a prison all its own?

To hell with Peter, Neal thought as he rose to his feet. Slightly wobbly, he paused to allow the dizziness to pass. Gritting his teeth with each step, Neal moved ever closer to the door thinking it was high time he took his life back.

****  
Halfway down the stairs, Peter saw movement towards the front of the house. Heart nearly exploding out of his chest, Peter reached out snagging a belt loop as the young man attempted to pass by. Peter held tight and drug Neal away from the exit only feeling slightly guilty when Neal hissed in pain as sore ribs protested the jerking motion.

“Oh, no, you don’t. We’re not finished here,” Peter advised Neal, keeping his voice calm and steady despite the hate filled eyes staring deeply back at him. The anger was front and center and clearly directed at Peter. Good, Peter thought, better directed at me rather than inward. 

“You can’t keep me here, Peter!” Neal snapped, not at all happy the agent had stopped him. 

“No, I can’t,” Peter readily agreed. Then he lowered his voice, almost pleading. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do, Neal?” When he didn’t receive an answer, Peter took a step away from Neal running a hand through the back of his hair and to his neck. “You know any other handler would just put an end to your deal, revoke custody, and send you back to prison right now.” 

Neal shrugged his shoulders displaying how little he cared. “Do whatever you want, Peter, but don’t make it sound like I have any choice in the matter. I never seem to have any choices. You always know what’s best for me, isn’t that right?”

Peter closed his eyes and took a calming breath. He wasn’t going to give in to his own anger or frustration. He wasn’t going to fall for Neal’s trick of picking a fight with him. Peter paused, waited for Neal to meet his eyes. “As your friend, I’m just trying to help you.”

Neal quickly shook his head negating what Peter said. “We’re not friends, Peter. I’m a criminal and you’re nothing more than my jailer. The anklet is nothing more than a chain around my neck, chocking the life out of me.”

Peter paced back and forth. His expression was stoic when he spun back around. “I don’t believe that. I don’t even think you believe that.”

Neal stared pointedly back at Peter. The agent might not be showing any emotion, but Neal knew it was there just under the surface. He could see it in the rigid way he stood, the left clenched fist. If he pushed just a little bit more, pressed him a little bit harder, he would break that carefully maintained facade. 

Neal didn’t know why, but he needed to push the older man’s button. He needed to see Peter lose some of his self-restraint. “I have no freedom here at all, Peter. No control over my own life. None! You’re always interfering. You couldn’t even give me one evening to myself. One evening! And you don’t trust me. You never have and let’s be honest, you never will. Does that sound like a friend, Peter?”

“I’m not going to apologize for stepping in tonight or on that tarmac,” Peter growled, and then immediately chided himself for letting Neal taunt him into a response. When Neal failed to respond, when he only stared at Peter taking heaving breathes not even trying to calm down, Peter just threw up his hands. “That’s what this is really about it, isn’t it, Neal?” 

With the darkness threatening to smother him again at just the mention of the tarmac, at the thought of the plane, of Kate, Neal’s heart raced. He felt the need to run, the need to get away, but not before taking one last hurtful shot. 

“This is about the great Agent Burke always knowing what’s best--then and now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is finished and will be posted today as well.


	6. Comfort At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sizing Peter up, sizing up what he perceived to be rage, Neal briefly wondered if he pushed hard enough if the man would lose all control. Maybe, just maybe he could get what he needed here and now if he could just drive him over the edge because the current aching in his ribs were no longer enough to keep the hurt away. Once again, Neal needed more and judging from the rage he felt radiating from the agent, Peter might just be able to give him exactly what he needed.

Not waiting to see if his strike found its mark, Neal stepped around Peter on his way back to the door. 

“Neal, you are not walking out that damn door!” Peter thundered, patience finally snapping in wake of growing, gripping fear. 

Sizing Peter up, sizing up what he perceived to be rage, Neal briefly wondered if he pushed hard enough if the man would lose all control. Maybe, just maybe he could get what he needed here and now if he could just drive him over the edge because the current aching in his ribs were no longer enough to keep the hurt away. Once again, Neal needed more and judging from the rage he felt radiating from the agent, Peter might just be able to give him exactly what he needed. 

“Agent Burke, you sound angry,” Neal said without emotion knowing that was the best way to get to the man.

“I’m not angry!” Peter yelled, all self-restraint crumbling, genuine terror taking over knowing he was failing. He wasn’t getting through to Neal who was prepared to walk out the door and to do only God knows what. He had to do something. He had to say something to get the kid to stop. 

“Then why are you yelling?!” Neal countered his voice still void of all feeling.

Peter moved right into Neal’s space, crowding him against the door, using his height and weight to his advantage. Putting his foot firmly against the bottom to keep it in place, Peter leaned his weight further into Neal who had turned to try unsuccessfully to yank the door open. 

In that moment, Peter stopped thinking and just started talking keeping his voice low. He spoke directly into Neal’s ear who had continued to struggle against Peter before aching ribs and the futility of his actions forced him to stop. Neal all but stilled when Peter started whispering in his ear.

“This is not anger, Neal. It’s not! This is me terrified. This is me in full blown panic at the thought of losing my best friend. This is me scared to death that I’m going to say the wrong thing or not say the right thing. This is me feeling completely helpless on how to help you. Neal, I’m not ‘Agent Burke’ right now. I’m just Peter, just your friend. And as your friend, I’m asking you not to leave. I’m-I’m begging you to stay here and talk to me. Let me help you, Neal. Damn it, you have to at least let me try!” 

Listening to Peter, suddenly Neal was just—tired. He wanted the night to be over. He wanted to be alone, but he knew Peter wouldn’t let him go; at least not without a fight. And Neal didn’t have the energy to think about what exactly that said or meant. 

“You—you can’t! You can’t fix me, Peter!”

“You’re not broken, Neal,” was Peter’s immediate response.

With Peter’s words, Neal felt most of his anger disappear. But he was still conflicted. He had meant what he said about needing some control over his own life. He needed Peter to accept that. Neal had had enough taken away from him. He needed something given back. He would tell him that, but not now. Now all Neal could do was focus on the calming voice behind him, absorb the heat of the body pressed against his that warmth being the only thing keeping the cold darkness at bay. 

Encouraged that Neal was no longer struggling and was staying put, Peter continued making sure he kept his voice soft and low. “I know you’re hurting and I know I can’t take that pain away. Nobody can. But I can’t just sit back and do nothing either. Maybe you’re right and I need to trust you more. I need to let you make your own decisions and be confident that you will make the right ones. But for that to happen, you have got to give me more than an ‘I’m fine, Peter’ when we both know you’re not. And I have to trust that you won’t do anything stupid. Fuck, Neal! Seeing that guy with the knife! Seeing you bleeding! It nearly killed me tonight. What would have happened if I hadn’t been there? If that’s ‘interfering’ then screw you because I would do it again. And that stunt you pulled with my gun? I never thought you were--”

Neal quickly cut him off, “I’m not, Peter! I swear I’m not.”

Peter sighed and said a silent prayer of thanks for that. “Okay. Okay. I believe you.” 

Peter paused, unsure how Neal would react to his next words. But he had to go there. If they were ever going to move forward, Peter had to. “I know you don’t want to, but we have to talk about what’s really going on here and it’s all about the tarmac.” 

Peter felt Neal tense up but he countered by leaning in even further, one hand against the door, the other resting gently on Neal’s hip not in a way to intimidate the young man but to let him know Peter was there, would always be there. 

“You can hate me for delaying you long enough so that you weren’t on that plane. You can. I can take it because the alternative--” Peter stopped, had to take a second to settle himself before he could continue. “Yeah, you can hate me, but, Neal, you can’t hate yourself for not being on that plane!” 

And those words broke him. All remaining fight evaporated. Neal’s shoulders slumped and he allowed himself to fall back against Peter. Immediately, Neal felt strong, solid arms wrap around him and Neal gave in to the exhaustion. 

Surprised by the sudden weight, Peter simply held Neal. Then he half carried, half dragged Neal back over to the couch trying to being mindful of his sore ribs. Helping Neal down onto the cushions, Peter sat down next to him, gingerly drawing the young man against him, slinging one arm loosely around Neal’s slender shoulders. They sat side by side until Neal broke the silence. 

“What I did tonight? Sometimes that’s the only way to keep the darkness from swallowing me whole; the pain being the only thing that helps me find myself again.”

And that broke Peter and he had to look away so his friend wouldn’t see how much his eyes reddening. “I, ah, I don’t have all the answers here, Neal.” Peter acknowledged, careful to keep his tone level. He didn’t want to do anything to spook Neal not when he had finally got the kid talking about what really mattered. “I can only promise to be here to help you. Neal, you don’t have to do this alone anymore.” 

With eyes closed, Neal spoke softly. “I think maybe I should stay with a friend tonight, if that’s okay?”

Peter was disappointed but didn’t want to dismiss the progress made between them. Baby steps, he told himself. Answering Neal, he did his best to not show his defeat. “Yeah, okay. Do you think you can reach Mozzie?” 

Despite Peter’s attempt at hiding his disappointment, Neal still heard it in the older man’s voice and felt the immediate tension in his body as Peter shifted slightly away. Keeping his eyes closed, Neal blindly reached out beside him, placing a hand on Peter’s chest to keep him in place. “Not Mozzie,” Neal said quietly, happy when Peter settled back down against him.

Peter looked down at the hand against his chest, wondering if he dared hope it meant what he thought it meant. He glanced at Neal, but the young man’s eyes were still closed, con man mask solidly in place, not giving anything away. “I thought I was your jailer,” Peter said slowly. 

Neal was silent for a moment. He wasn’t sure whether to speak up or not; to break the peaceful mood or not. After consideration, Neal thought the words needed saying just as much as Peter needed to hear them. “You are. Peter, I know the moment I cross a line you can’t justify or you can’t live with, I’m going back to prison. I know that and you have to accept that,” Neal stated frankly. 

“I know,” Peter acknowledged even though he wanted to dispute it. He wanted to dispute it, but knew that he couldn’t. Neal was right. Peter would send him back, but only if he had to.

Again Neal was silent taking his time to finish his thought. “Just like I have to accept that you are also my friend,” Neal admitted thinking back to the Howser Clinic and telling Peter he was the only one he trusted. He had meant it then and he found he still felt that way now. 

“I’m trying to be,” Peter readily agreed, starting to feel a glimmer of hope in what Neal was saying. 

Neal glanced over at Peter, exchanging a quick look. The eyes reflecting back at him didn’t bother to disguise anything about what he was feeling. And Neal realized he really wasn’t angry anymore, at least not with Peter. Neal understood that tonight had been more about making Peter a convenient target for what all was going on in Neal’s screwy head. Yes, they had to find a better balance, but Peter was a friend, maybe his only real one. 

Neal sighed, closing his eyes again. “This relationship isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

Peter chuckled, “If these first months are any indication, I don’t think so, but--”

“But?” Neal echoed.

Peter smiled, “Nothing worth having ever is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your kind words of encouragement. I apologize for taking so long with the ending. I hope you find it was worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a true hurt/comfort story. Still working on the rest of the story but hope to finish it within the next week. Will be 1 or 2 more chapters at most. Feedback is welcome as I venture into this type of story!


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